


A College Fairytail

by hrkkitulikijehuar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura, College AU, Human AU, M/M, The fire still happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrkkitulikijehuar/pseuds/hrkkitulikijehuar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek meet in the laundry room and then proceed to do almost everything out of order.</p><p>(based on various prompts from <a href="http://thelockwolf.tumblr.com/post/95305316510/met-doing-laundry-at-2am-college-au-accidentally">this tumblr post</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Let Anyone Steal My Underwear

**Author's Note:**

> remember kids, in the real world do NOT have unprotected sex with strangers and always drink responsibly.

There’s a reason Stiles does his laundry at 2am on Saturday and it is because that is the only time when you can get more than one machine to yourself, and definitely a dryer when you need it. Presumably there are too many parties, adventures, and booty calls at 2am on Saturday for everyone else--a point that Scott makes constantly when begging Stiles to just do his laundry some other time because he needs a wingman, seriously he really needs Stiles, come on! Stiles, not one to turn down a good party most of the time, points out that Friday nights are wide open but apparently that’s when the girl Scott is chasing, Kira, must do her laundry or something because she’s never anywhere to be seen on Friday nights out at clubs or the usual frat house rounds. Stiles doesn’t care, he loves Scott, but he is also partial to clean underwear.

Except...expect….Scott has known Stiles too long and has struck at a weak spot. And so a compromise had to be found, and now Stiles is doing something he never, ever does: he’s using all the machines in the laundry room at once so he can be done and out of there in time to back Scott up. Stiles had never seen anyone else doing laundry during his time slot, but he always refrained from hogging all the washers and dryers at the same time. That would just be rude. But Scott and his bribes and his Kira chasing...and so Stiles does it. Just this once.

Of course, the one time Stiles breaks the unspoken laundry code is the one time someone else actually decided to do their laundry at 2am on a Saturday.

Stiles has dumped everything in the three machines to wash and then gone up to get ready for the club, figuring he’d put everything in the dryer on his way out and hope against hope that anyone who decided to do laundry at 4am or whatever, would be one of those polite people who put your laundry on the table rather than just tossing it on the floor. Or stealing it.

When he skids into the laundry room in his black skinny jeans, nearly too tight shirt and his eyeliner, there’s someone in the laundry room. It’s another guy, in soft gray sweats and a sweater with thumb holes, a pair of flip flops on his otherwise bare feet. The guy is frowning at the three full washers that hold Stiles laundry, all about to finish their cycle.

“Oh man, sorry.” Stiles says, slightly embarrassed though also a little annoyed--why did this guy have to pick tonight?

“I swear I never usually hog the whole laundry room, it’s just my friend Scott has this thing...and I always do laundry now, but, I’m trying to get out of here to go be his wingman. No one is ever down here at this time and I thought, just this once...”

The guy turns to face Stiles, frown melting into something else as he looks Stiles up and down.

“Going out and leaving it unattended? So you’re a risk taker as well as rude?”

Stiles is brought up short all of a sudden, his normally quick tongue is lead as he takes in the contradiction of the man before him. His clothes give off an air of softness, of comfort, but his face is rugged, bearded and somehow hard despite the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Stiles can imagine him in leather riding a motorcycle. Stiles can imagine him in glasses chewing a pen over a notebook in the library. This man would work in any and every fantasy Stiles has ever had. It’s all he can do not to drool.

He clears his throat trying to come up with a reply but he just nods, eyes locked on the man.

“Maybe I could keep an eye on it for you.” the man suggests casually, but advancing on Stiles. “So no one takes it out halfway through or dumps it on the floor.”

“That would be great.” Stiles finally finds his voice.

“Of course, you’d have to do me a favor first…”

Stiles can’t believe his ears. He would very much like to do this man many, many favors.

“Yeah, I have an idea about that,” Stiles says without thinking, holding his ground as the man stops in front of him, eyes falling to Stiles’ lips.

“I bet you do,” the man smirks as he leans in. Stiles brings his hands up to the man’s face almost at once and they skip straight to tongue with only the briefest of preliminary lip brushing. Strong hands pull Stiles’ hips in and he happily melts against the stranger. It’s reckless, of course, and his heart is beating wildly in his chest, his brain fighting to remember that this is actually pretty weird, he doesn’t even know this guy’s name and no one has even been drinking.

After a moment, Stiles drops his hands to the waistband of the man’s sweatpants. He breaks the kiss with Stiles to lock eyes with him,

“You sure? I was half kidding.”

But Stiles palms the man’s half hard cock through the fabric in reply and the guy moans, kissing at Stiles’ throat. Stiles crowds him back up against one of the machines before pulling the sweatpants down. He gives the man a quick kiss before sinking down in front of him. He’s nearly fully hard, and Stiles takes his time nuzzling at the man’s stomach, following the path of hair down with kisses.

By the time Stiles’ takes him in his mouth he’s ready, he gasps out little sounds as Stiles begins, one hand on Stiles shoulder and the other on the top of his head. Stiles licks and sucks, taking feedback from the pressure of the hand on his shoulder and the sounds the man makes. Beautiful, indecent sounds that have Stiles hard as well.

“Hey,” the man pants, grip hard on Stiles shoulder. “I’m. Close.”

Stiles just slides a hand around to cup the man’s ass, hard and demanding and then swallows down his reward. He pulls back, glancing up at the beautiful stranger, licking his lips.

The man is gazing at him, glaze-eyed and surprised.

“So, about my laundry….” Stiles smirks, enjoying the long gone look on the stranger's face. “Think that makes up for using all the machines and having you keep on eye on it?” 

The man just nods. He opens his mouth to say something but Stiles’ cell phones goes off. Damn Scott’s timing. Stiles pulls it out and answers it.

“I’m coming Scott, promise. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Just...I’m coming, jeez.”

Stiles hangs up and sticks it back in his pocket. 

“I gotta go, thanks...just...thanks.” Stiles stammers, Scott’s call having reintroduced reality to the situation. Stiles just sucked off a stranger in the laundry room--sober, what the hell.

“Right.” The man says, still a little dazed. “I’m Derek, by the way.”

“Stiles,” Stiles smiles as he makes for the door. “Don’t let anyone steal my underwear.”

“I won’t.”


	2. You Owe Me Another Favor

Stiles is completely wasted. Like, he’s not really sure which way up is, only he thinks it might be where his head is, or where it’s supposed to be, he’s not really sure about that either. There were shots, there were shots and more shots and some frilly drinks with umbrellas which he got because of the umbrellas--seriously they came with umbrellas! Little paper umbrellas in bright colors, like pink and bright blue. But now he needs to get back to his room because...he just does. It might be time to sleep, he is pretty sleepy. So, bed would be nice. Then his thoughts drift back to the laundry-room guy, that perfect laundry room guy with his perfect cock and his perfect kisses and his perfect everything. That had been last weekend, this was this weekend, and he’s kind of hoping the guy--Derek--will be there tomorrow at 2am so they can do it all again. Except better and with Stiles getting off this time too. He almost moans out loud thinking about having the guy on the laundry room table, just fucking him right there with him making those perfect little pants. No one pants like Derek.

Stiles finds his door, and tries to get his key into the lock but somehow it doesn’t seem to fit. He knows he’s drunk, completely and totally out of his mind drunk, so he’s not really surprised he can’t key into his room. Whatever, Isaac should be inside, he’ll just have to wake up and let Stiles in. Serve the guy right lounging around in his scarves with his stupid curly hair making eyes at Scott. Seriously, Stiles wouldn’t care except Scott is his best friend and Isaac is his roommate. That’s like some kind of freaky incest. It just bothers him. So it serves Isaac right when Stiles starts pounding on the door at god-knows-what in the morning.

“Isaac!” Stiles whines, hammering on the door as loudly as he dares. He is dimly aware that there are rules about noise this late--or early.

“Ah-eee-zzzzzzzz-ick.” Stiles draws it out, plaintive but demanding.

The door opens and Stiles blinks stupidly up at the laundry room guy.

“Yer not Isaac.” He slurs, confused.

“No.” The guy frowns down at Stiles. “But you are that guy from the laundry room. Stiles, or something, right?”

“Yes.” Stiles nods.

“You’re drunk.”

“Completely. Off my ass.” Stiles confirms. “Why are you in my room?”

“I’m not. I’m in my room.”

“Huh.” Stiles squints around at the hall. “Is this the third floor?”

“Yeah, it is.” Derek replies, trying for annoyed but coming up amused.

“Ohhhh, I live upstairs.” Stiles says. “Right above you. Funny.”

“Have you had any water?” Derek asks.

“I really have no idea.” Stiles shrugs. “I was going to go to bed but then I was here.”

“Right, why don’t I help you back to your room and we get some water in you.”

“Ok.” Stiles says, but just leans against the wall. “You know I was just thinking about you. I was hoping I’d run into you tomorrow again.”

“You can’t run into me tomorrow again,” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t run into me tomorrow for a first time.”

Stiles waves a hand somewhat widely. “You know what I mean. Last week was Saturday, tomorrow is Saturday.”

“You’re not making sense.” Derek sighs. “Come on, let’s get you to your own room.”

“Yeah about that.” Stiles slides to the floor. “My legs don’t want to. I think they’re asleep--not like pins and needles more like snoring. Maybe they’ve passed out. Hey, do you think my legs have passed out? Does that mean the rest of is gonna too?”

Derek just frowns down at him for a moment.

“Wait here.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles happily, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Derek shoves a bottle of water into Stiles hands when he reemerges.

“Drink that but try not to throw up or anything.”

Stiles takes a long drink of water but his stomach feels full and sort of sloshy so he stops.

“I really liked sucking you off, you know.”

Derek closes his eyes as if praying for patience or strength.

“I’ve never done anything like that before, just you know wham bam laundry room man. But you’re kind of like totally perfect. And you taste good. Annnnd,” Stiles stifles a yawn. “You make this fantastic sounds that make me what to figure out how to take you completely apart so you melt in my hands.”

“Just...stop talking.” Derek grunts, taking the water back from Stiles and setting it inside his room. He grabs Stiles’ arm and hauls him to his feet. Stiles leans into him, happy, warm, if slightly woozy. Things are so woozy that he’s not really sure what happens after that, or indeed if any of what happened before it was real--he just knows he wakes up in his own bed the next day with his shoes neatly stationed next to the door in a way he would never manage on his own--let alone drunk.

It’s not until he goes to put them on much later that day--after the vomiting and the lying around moaning about how he’s dying--that he finds a note stuffed into the toe of the left sneaker that reads,

“You owe me another favor - D”


	3. Up Against the Books?

Stiles hardly ever studies--he doesn’t need to. Scott hates him for it, but Stiles can glide through basically anything with almost no effort and at the very least get a B, if not better. But papers are another matter--they require sources, and despite it being the 21st century, some professors insist that books make up at least some of those sources, and that is how Stiles ends up in the library. He starts by looking up a few likely books in the catalog, but then spends a half an hour in one section before finally staggering to a table under the weight of something like thirteen volumes. Nevermind that half of them aren’t actually relevant to his topic, it’s just that they sounded interesting. Stiles doesn’t need to study but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like learning--on his own terms anyway. That’s the other thing about papers--tests and class discussions are all driven by the professor. There’s not a lot of room for expansion--but papers...papers are like this free for all, sure the topic might be set but that’s not really important. Stiles always writes the papers he needs to write whether or not they have anything to do with the assignment. Which might be why he gets more Bs than As.

He slowly spreads out his books all over the table, selecting one and thumbing through it for interesting chapter titles or sentences that catch his eye. He takes notes occasionally, but mostly just sorts through his haul before taking the rejects to the shelving cart and heading back into the stacks for more gems. When he returns he realizes someone else has left a notebook and a few books on the other end of the table--the library is pretty packed so he supposes there was no other place for this person but it still annoys him. Stiles glares at the neat little stack of books for a moment before realizing that the top book is actually about circumcision. Stiles, without thinking, grabs it and leafs through. He once wrote such an epic paper on circumcision that his high school economics teacher was forced to give it a passing grade despite it being utterly irrelevant to what he was meant to be writing about. He sets it down and picks up the next book--the first had been on male circumcision but the second is about female genital cutting and is positively gruesome. The third book is on the historical importance of eunuchs in various societies.

Stiles very much wants to write this paper rather than his own. He absently sits down as he starts reading about Turkish castration practices.

“Do you mind?” someone growls from his left. Stiles slaps the book shut guiltily but stares up at Derek.

“Oh my god you are everywhere.” Derek’s eyes widen as he realizes it’s Stiles.

“Or you are.” Stiles points out, hastily putting the book back on Derek’s pile. “I was actually here first.”

“I’m here everyday.” Derek snaps.

“Every day?” Stiles repeats, in disbelief. “Don’t you have a life?”

“Of course I do.” Derek frowns.

“Uh huh.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“What were you even doing?” Derek demands, irritation plain on his face.

“Reading about castration.” Stiles leans back in the chair. Derek puts his hand on the back of Stiles chair and slams it forward so all the feet are on the ground again.

“Hey!” Stiles yelps.

“What are you, twelve?” Derek hisses. “You ought to know how to sit in a chair properly by now.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles mutters, but a better idea than a snarky comeback occurs to him.

“So...I believe I owe you a favor.” He bats his lashes up at Derek, a wicked smile on his lips. It works, Derek begins to blush--while glowering, which is hilarious.

“Not here.” Derek mutters, softly.

“Oh I think here is perfect.” Stiles grins. “Up against the books? Or maybe right here, under the table?”

Derek swallows, shaking his head, but the color deepening in his cheeks is all the encouragement Stiles needs.

“If you’re here every day...this is probably your favorite place to study, maybe we should ruin it so every time you come here all you can think about is my mouth on your cock. Or, if you spend so much time in the library, you must have a thing for books, don’t you want to feel them on your bare ass while I swallow everything you have to give me?”

“Shut up, shut up.” Derek mutters, glancing around at the other students studying.

“Come on, Derek, what will it be?” And Stiles reaches out to stroke the hand that is still holding Stiles’ chair down.

Derek swallows hard and drags Stiles off into the stacks, to the most secluded place he can find and tells Stiles to hurry. Stiles is tempted not to, but the torture only works if it’s with pleasure--too much anxiety kills the mood so he does hurry, but afterward, he takes the time to kiss Derek and grind into him a little to let him know that eventually--Derek is going to owe  _ him _ a favor.


	4. Next Time in a Room with a Lock

Derek is pissed. All that money for tuition and housing and the water to his floor is shut off due some kind of burst pipe. It’s the kind of thing that is bound to happen occasionally he supposes but he overslept and feeling outraged is much more satisfying than feeling accepting. He can either skip his shower or take one on another floor--if he skips the shower he’ll have time to grab some kind of breakfast. But he’ll never wake up without the shower, so he decides breakfast will have to be sacrificed and heads up the fourth floor men’s bathroom, towel over one arm and carrying his shower basket with his shampoo and soap.

Predictably, all the showers are taken, the first three are already on--the spray audible as people move beneath it. The last one is off, though someone has drawn the curtain. He waits, wondering if the last guy is about to start or just finishing--but as the curtain draws back, it’s none other than Stiles standing there, reaching over to the bench to grab his soap which he evidently forgot. Something makes him look up and lock eyes with Derek, the curtain the only thing hiding all of him from view.

Derek swallows, caught off guard, like he always is by Stiles from that first night when Stiles walked in looking like some kind of lithe, fae creature practically out of Shakespeare. He never hit on strangers like that, never even tried. He didn’t know what came over him. And the way Stiles had responded, he still couldn’t believe it.

Stiles’ eyes flick over Derek, taking in the situation and then, nods his head toward the shower he’s half standing out of. It’s not that Derek doesn’t understand the gesture, the invitation, it’s that he doesn't know how to respond. Suddenly, thoughts of breakfast and making it to class don’t enter into it--does he want to do this? Get naked with Stiles in a room full of other guys just a slab of plastic away?

The problem is that he does, he absolutely and completely does.

So he crosses over, Stiles’ eyes still locked on his, and hangs up his towel next to Stiles’. He sets his shower caddy down, pulls out his shampoo and soap and steps behind the curtain where he quickly strips off, business like and ignoring Stiles. He then leans around the curtain just enough to drop his clothes on the bench, before finally turning to face Stiles. They stare for a moment, drinking each other in, before Stiles smirks and turns the water on.

Derek reaches for him, pulls him in for a kiss. But he doesn’t let it linger before he’s kissing along Stiles’ jaw, and making his way to nibble at Stiles’ ear lobe. Stiles’ sucks in his breath, trying to be quiet and Derek runs his hands over Stiles’ back, mapping out its contours. Stiles just clings to Derek, like he’d fall down without him.

He pushes Stiles into the wall, narrowly missing the fixtures. Stiles arcs into him, greedily moving against him even though they’ve only just started. Derek holds his breath to keep from making any sound as his hands trail down Stiles’ sides to his hips and then pull Stiles hard into him, hands cupping Stiles’ ass. Stiles fails to suppress his whimper completely, but it’s a quiet thing, easily hidden by the running water. Stiles kisses Derek fervently, like he’s downing and Derek is air. He sucks little bruises into Derek’s neck that make Derek shiver and almost bite down on Stiles’ shoulder to keep from expressing his pleasure out loud. Derek finally gives in and reaches down to touch Stiles, and he gasps, and Derek can only hope the water covers the sound.

Eventually, the other showers turn off and shuffling feet exit the bathroom. Eventually, Stiles and Derek actually wash up, though Derek has a hard time keeping his hands off Stiles, the memory of him shuddering against Derek as he came, still burned into his skin. Stiles has to swat him away a few times, just to get his hair washed, but in Derek’s defense, Stiles is breathtaking. Not touching him when he’s right there, inches in front of Derek and completely naked….that’s impossible.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Stiles says as they towel off. “Someone is going to catch us at it if we keep tempting fate. I am not, by any means, suggesting we stop though. I am not nearly through with you.”

Derek has to exert enormous control to keep from showing Stiles how very not through he is with Stiles. But he just rolls his eyes instead,

“We could maybe plan it next time, in a room with a lock.” Derek suggests.

“What, maybe even a bed? Kinky.” Stiles laughs. “You’re on.”

And so they each cell numbers after they dress, and several lingering kisses as well.


	5. And You're Irritating as Hell

Derek is pulling As in every class except one. Chemistry. The thing is, there’s a reason he’s teetering between English and Spanish as his major instead of say...any kind of science. He’s just better with words than the minutiae of the cosmos. Chemistry takes all the most confusing parts of math and adds in weird diagrams of mind-bogglingly small structures in ways he just can’t understand. But, there is a science requirement to get any degree and while he now regrets his decision not just take Bio, when he signed up for classes he chose Chem because he was trying branch out and expand his general knowledge base. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but six weeks in it was obviously a huge mistake because he is definitely, definitely not going to manage the required C for it to count toward his degree. Which means he’s going to have to either fail, or resign and either way it means he wasted all his time and effort and it’s making him angry.

So he actually goes to office hours and talks to the professor. The man is sympathetic, but teaching general chem is not his passion and he’s got at least two other sections so he doesn’t have the time to hold Derek’s hand through the class. Thus he suggests asking one of the top students to tutor Derek. Derek is not a fan of the idea, but he agrees. Two days later, the professor holds him back after class to say that one of the top students had some free time and gave Derek his email address so the two could work out how they wanted to proceed.

Derek stares at the paper,  s.stilinski@campusmail.edu . His first thought is of Stiles, since it’s similar to this kid’s surname. He pauses to consider what hell kind of name Stiles even is, but it doesn’t really matter. They haven’t met up again since the shower incident that has Derek almost blushing as he stands in the classroom, shoving the paper in his pocket and moving on to his next class. Somehow it’s weird texting Stiles to set up an encounter, as much as his daydreams attest to the things he’d like to try in an actual bed. But everything so far has been accidental and organic and he can’t quite figure out how to approach it as some kind of more...substantial arrangement. Besides, this would make them fuck buddies and he has no idea how that happened to him. He doesn’t have a problem with casual sex except that he’d always been so sure it wasn’t for him. The whole thing is just too weird. Besides, what is he supposed to even say to Stiles, ‘im horny r u?’ that’s just too much for Derek.

That evening he emails Stilinski his schedule and makes sure the kid understands what a challenge this will be. He gets back a response pretty quick and they set up a time on the weekend in the library. The whole thing is frankly a little humiliating, Derek is actually about a two years older than the rest of the freshman, having taken some time after the deaths of his family. He actually started the previous Spring, taking two test classes long distance before officially matriculating. He wasn’t amused by the idea of living on campus but there was some rule about having to spend the first year in the dorms that he probably could have appealed but he hadn’t wanted to deal with the hassle. It did meant that while he wasn’t actually older than college age, he did feel like he shouldn’t need to be tutored by some 18 year old. Laura kept telling him that he needed the full college experience anyway and to stop complaining, it was only two years. Laura was usually right.

When Saturday rolled around, Derek grit his teeth and slouched off to his favorite table to meet Stilinski. To his horror, but with a strange twist of pleasure, Stiles was there again.

“Not again,” he muttered. He didn’t actually know Stiles so it shouldn’t matter if the kid found out Derek was crap at chemistry but somehow he didn’t like the idea.

“Clear off, I’m meeting someone,” he grumped at Stiles.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Stiles stares up at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. It’s important, academic stuff, there’s a free table over there if you’re studying.”

“No, I mean, you’re d.s.hale?” Stiles waves a hand.

Derek blinks and then works it out. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski? Your parents must hate you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my name though the point still stands. My first name is a secret, and unpronounceable anyway. So, I’m Stiles. Moving on, you suck at chem.”

Derek grinds his teeth slightly but sits across from Stiles. “Indeed.”

Stiles gives him one of those wicked little smirks. “Well, no need to be such a sourwolf about it. No one is good at everything. Except me. So, given your love affair with the library I’m guessing you’re not one of those people who just needs to actually study a bit. You have cracked the book I suppose? Paid attention in class?”

Derek just stares, impatient and annoyed.

“Right, well, moving on again, do you have like a specific hang up or it just everything?”

Derek does have a few specific issues, but getting them out is harder because Stiles is so fucking smug and flippant--and Stiles, which, is distracting.

“This isn’t going to work.” Derek says.

“Why? Because I’ve had your cock in my mouth?” Stiles asks, innocently.

“Yes. And You’re irritating as hell.” Derek hisses through clenched teeth. Stiles doesn’t even bother to keep his voice down when he mentions their bizarre acquaintance.

“I have been told that,” Stiles nods in mock sympathy. “But I bet we can find a way to make this work. You probably need something a little less than traditional anyway, I mean, class isn’t cutting it so you clearly need to approach it another way.”

Derek knows exactly one thing about Stiles, really, as a person, and thus he pretty much knows what Stiles is saying and it’s finally crossed some line with Derek he didn’t know he had. He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t push the table over, he just stands up calmly and puts his notebook back in his bag and ignores Stiles’ calls as he walks right out of the library.

Stiles might be just some kid there for the whole college experience of messing around and somehow getting through by the skin of his teeth, staggering around on friday nights so drunk he can’t find his room, and hooking up with strangers in the laundry room, but Derek actually cares about his education. And to have someone suggest that somehow some kind of sexual reward system would ever actually result in progress just...he couldn’t take it. Stiles had an obscene mouth and his hands were graceful and demanding and his eyes were like whisky you could drown in, and yes his moles decorated his pale skin in a way that seemed too perfect to be allowed, but the beauty was only skin deep and he was not the sort of person Derek could ever actually associate with.


	6. A Broken Whatsit

Stiles stares after Derek’s retreating back completely at a loss. He’s screwed up, that was obvious, but he didn’t really know what he’d done--not exactly, and he had no idea how to fix it. It caught him off guard how very much he felt he needed to fix it--whatever it was. He and Derek weren’t friends, they didn’t even know each other, and what did it matter to Stiles if the guy he was supposed to tutor stormed off or if the guy he random hooked up with occasionally got tired of him? Derek might have a boyfriend--or a girlfriend, or maybe several of both for all Stiles knew. It struck him then how irresponsible they’d been but somehow it didn’t seem to matter as much as the fact that the universe kept throwing them together and Stiles had just managed to break whatever it was they did have.

Obviously, something about Stiles; not-actually-serious suggestion that some kind of sexual-favors-as-modivation system might be worked out had offended Derek. Stiles had just been riffing off their previous interactions, which were all sexual. He’d been flirting. But Derek had taken it seriously, and that...that was apparently some kind of Bad with a capital letter. Stiles sighed. Apparently mixing business and pleasure was not ok with Derek. He pulls out his phone and starts an apology text.

 

“So let me get this straight.” Scott stares at Stiles, incredulous.

“You met a guy in the laundry room and gave him head after like 20 seconds of conversation about laundry. Then, you got drunk and accidentally found his room, then you ran into him in the library where you once again performed public oral sex, and then he turned up in your bathroom and you had shower sex. At that point you exchanged numbers and then you agreed to tutor him in chemistry without knowing it was him because the art of letter writing is dead and the only thing you had to go off was the campus email address which lists last names and you only exchanged first names. But instead of more public sex somehow you pissed him off and now he’s ignoring you and that’s why you have your head stuffed in the lounge couch.”

“Rrrfffffffle.” Stiles replies, groaning from between cushions. Stiles told Scott they needed to go get drunk because Stiles was nursing a broken whatsit. Not heart because he and Derek hadn’t been romantic, it was his whatsit, which was the organ that allowed you to feel fucking miserable over a guy you didn’t even know. Scott had not seemed to understand at all, and Stiles had tried to explain but Scott seemed to be incredibly slow today.

“I can’t decide it that means you two are like fated or if it’s just seriously crazy and you need to be stopped for your own good.”

“I just wish he’d say something. I feel like I’ve been dumped.”

“How would you know?” Scott asked ruefully. “You’ve never been dumped.”

“I’ve been rejected.” Stiles points out. “Plus I’ve watched you wallow after Allison, I’m pretty sure this is how it feels.”

“Yeah but this wasn’t a relationship, this was...I don’t know if that even counts as like fuck buddies, since you never planned any of it and everything you know about him can be summed up in like a sentence you could pull from his Student File.”

“It was something though.” Stiles insists.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Haven’t you been listening?”

“No, I mean in person. You know where his room is.”

“Isn’t that kind of a no-no though? I mean, if someone ignores your texts...isn’t it like stalkerish to turn up at their door?”

Scott gives him a look that says ‘because that’s ever stopped you before’ but says,

“I think that’s only if he actually tells you to get lost. He’s not telling you to shut up, he hasn’t blocked you or reported you for harassment, he’s just...not replying. Maybe you need to like actually go apologize face to face, maybe he just needs to know you care enough to actually do that. I don’t know. You’re not actually dating and he’s not a girl, this is all outside my experience, dude.”

“Unnnnnghhhf.” Stiles put his head back in the cushions.

 

Stiles is absolutely determined to apologize, but he’s also seriously pissed that he has to. This means he turns up, only slightly drunk this time, knocking on Derek’s door on purpose. He has no plan for what happens if Derek’s roommate answers or if no one does, but luck is on his side because Derek is the one who pulls the door open to stare at Stiles, a little amazed, a little aggravated.

“Look asshat,” Stiles begins, “I’m sorry. I have no idea how to actually talk to you because we don’t actually talk, so, I was just...I wasn’t being serious. It was me coping with how weird our situation is, and yeah, maybe I was kind of a dick, I usually am. So. But you ignoring my texts? Real mature dude, totally adult, so don’t think you’re any better than me in this. Maybe it is a stupid idea for me to tutor you given everything, but I am good at it and you’re not, so there’s that as well. And I think if we maybe had an actual conversation sometime, we could figure it out. I did get Scott through all his classes and he has a damnedest time getting stuff through conventional methods but he’s like my brother so I obviously just explained it better. I can actually help. Anyway, sorry I offended you, and next time use your words, like the big guy you are.”

And then Stiles rocks back on his feet and scowls up at Derek who’s just staring at him, totally fighting to process Stiles’ tirade of an apology. Stiles gets a sudden twist in his stomach at the thought that he might have just screwed things up more and sputters a ‘whatever man, see you’ and turns on his heels to march off.

“Stiles!” Derek calls after him. Stiles turns, heart thudding in a maddening way because really this was not Stiles fault anyway. It was Derek’s.

Derek doesn’t seem to know what to actually say, but the way he's looking at Stiles kind of works on it’s own. He’s not mad. He’s just...lost. Well so is Stiles, so he gives Derek a little smile and a salute and carries on. But Derek catches up to him, and then they’re kissing in the hallway. Words just fuck everything up with them, but the kiss...the kiss tells Stiles that Derek is sorry too--even if he was annoyed about it as Stiles was, and it tells Stiles’ he’s forgiven and that Derek maybe hates him a little but can’t get him out of his head any more than Stiles can keep Derek from his thoughts. Derek pulls back, breathing hard, hands still at Stiles’ elbows.

Stiles stares up at him, serious and awed because this still makes 0 sense to anyone.

“Whatever man, see you.” Derek says affectionately, releasing Stiles and turning back to his room. “Can we try again on Thursday?”

“Sure.” Stiles nods, as Derek slips back into his room.

Stiles waits a whole hour before implementing his plan. Then he starts texting Derek questions, random, silly things like what his favorite color is and what he likes on his pizza. The idea is that when they meet again, they’re not be total strangers who’ve seen each other naked and heard each other orgasm. They need to at least be able to find something other than chemistry and sex to break the ice.

 

The next day, halfway through lunch, Scott groans and says,

“Are you serious or is this just revenge?”

“Huh?” Stiles asks, mouth full of woefully straight college fries.

“You are serious. Oh my god.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve spent the last twenty minutes talking nonstop about everything you’ve found out about Derek since yesterday. You don’t even know you’re doing it. I think you’re in love, Stiles.”

“I can’t be.” Stiles frowns. “I still don’t know the guy--I’m not sure I even like him. I mean, yeah, unlike  _ some one _ he’s seen Star Wars, but as far as I can tell he reads. That’s it. He just...he has no life at all. Total nerd, and not like us--we’re cool nerds who party--ok, I’m a cool nerd, no one knows what you are. But Derek is like...the guy who all the librarians know on a first name basis. Total downer, and he always replies in terse short sentences or one word responses, no conversational skills at all.”

“How about you’re infatuated then?”

“I guess...I am really that bad?”

“Worse. But, it’s only fair. I did it to you, so what other movies has he seen?”

“Oh he has the weirdest taste….”


	7. You Know There Are Tarantulas in the US, right?

Derek hears a blood curdling scream, it was straight out of a horror movie--worse, actually, there was something so authentic about it. Someone was being murdered, or had actually had a vending machine fall on them like the little warning illustration telling you not to tip them, or something else equally horrific. He runs, flat out in a way he’s never down in a building, toward the sound. What he finds, when he gets to the vending room is Stiles, plastered to a vending machine, arms thrown wide around it, with his feet in the retrieval area, his head craned around, his eyes wide and watching something in the far corner. It’s a spider.

Derek is torn between berating Stiles for giving him a heart attack and laughing.

“What the hell, Stiles?” he chokes out, trying to sound stern.

“Oh my god, Derek, kill it, no, no save yourself just...run...get help, call the fire department or something. IT’S MOVING OH GOD I AM GOING TO DIE.”

Stiles screeches the last and starts whimpering, eyes fixed on the spider that is skittering along the wall toward the ceiling. Derek takes off his shoe, crosses to the corner and smacks the the thing dead.

“You can come down now.” Derek says calmly, determined to keep a straight face.

Stiles stares at him.

“It was just a spider.” Derek shrugs.

“No, it was not.” Stiles peels himself off the vending machine.

“Just a spider is one of those things with the spindly legs that’s no bigger than a quarter. That was a monster. It had HAIR.”

“It did not.” Derek sighs, putting his show back on.

“It was massive.”

“I’ve seen bigger.”

“WHERE?” Stiles actually looks around the room.

“You know there are tarantulas in the US, right?”

“What, no, what, no you liar.”

Derek chuckles. “Not here, stop panicking.”

“I can’t.” Stiles hisses, but Derek isn’t laughing anymore because Stiles is clutching his sides, breathing half way to hyperventilating. Stiles is shaking and sinking to the floor.

“Shit, Stiles, are you ok?” Derek mumbles, kneeling down, confused. The spider really wasn’t that big and it really couldn’t have hurt Stiles.

“No.” Stiles grunts, clearly focused on whatever it is that’s happening to him. Derek hovers for a moment, lost.

“Panic attack.” Stiles grits out.

Derek should have known that, it was obvious, really.

“Ok,” Derek says, mastering his own elevated concern to find a calm voice. “Breath with me?”

And reaches out and pulls Stiles’ hand so it’s over his own heart. He takes measured, calm breaths, finding Stiles’ wild eyes and holding him steady. Derek understands panic attacks--he’s had his share. Like that time Laura was late getting home from work and he heard sirens. He hadn’t known what was happening to him, which, on top of thinking Laura had died in a car accident had been quite enough to etch the feeling of terror and inability to breathe into Derek’s memory. It didn’t matter if he thought the spider thing was silly--the degree to which Stiles didn’t was plain.

Stiles eventually got his breathing under control, and slowly, he relaxed his grip on Derek’s shirt where he’d been clinging to the fabric above Derek’s heart.

“‘m sorry.” Derek muttered. “I should have realized you wouldn’t climb the vending machine for nothing.”

“Not your fault.” Stiles says, “I just...don’t like how they move.”

“Why don’t we get you out of here?” Derek suggests, trying to gauge if Stiles is ready to move. “Some place you feel safer.”

“Right,” Stiles fully lets go of Derek’s shirt. Derek helps him up and Stiles clears his throat and Derek realizes that he’s embarrassed. Derek doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t need to be, that now that Derek gets it he doesn’t think it’s funny or pathetic. He doesn’t know how to tell Stiles anything.

He knows that Stiles’ loves Star Wars, that Scott is his best friend, that his favorite color is red, and that he has way too much to say about everything. He knows details, random trivia--and a few things about what gets Stiles off that he noticed when they were carrying on their coincidental trysts. It’s enough to get through Stiles tutoring him in chemistry. But he still doesn’t know how to talk to Stiles.

He opens his mouth to tell him that it’s ok, but it sounds hollow even in his head so he closes it again. He keeps his hand on Stiles’ elbow though, hoping it conveys something, comfort, solidarity, anything really.

It doesn’t seem to work. Stiles won’t look at him and worse--he’s quiet, all the way up to Stiles’ room. As Stiles’ hand closes around the knob Derek blurts out something he’s never told anyone.

“There was a fire, when I was sixteen. It was Christmas, my parents, my brother, my little sister, my aunts and uncles, cousins, everyone was inside except me and Laura. Everyone died. Now sometimes if...if I think something might have happened to Laura I…”

He can’t finish. Laura tried to make him go to therapy but he couldn’t. He’s never told anyone, Laura only knows because she was there, it happened to her too. Stiles stares at him for a long time, shock playing over his face.

“My...mom...was always the one who...well she wouldn’t kill them, said it was bad luck, she always caught them--the spiders I mean. And let them go outside. But she died. It’s different, but I call my dad every few days to remind him not to eat fast food because his cholesterol is high and...”

Stiles shrugs his babble trailing off like Derek’s confession. “Anyway, thanks, um.”

It is awkward, but not the way Derek always assumed it would be. He feared the pity, the people who didn’t know what to say, being looked at like he was broken, different, an orphan. Stiles just looked like he understood but there wasn’t anything to say. Maybe there wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Derek replies. “Maybe text me later if you’re feeling better, we could get dinner.”

Stiles nods and they both turn, Stiles to go into his room and Derek to head back down the hall to the stairs. Derek isn’t sure why he did that, he and Stiles don’t hang out. But he needed to make sure Stiles knew Derek wasn’t going to hold the spider thing against him. Ever.


	8. Your Whole Relationship is Basically That You Have No Relationship

Stiles knew two types of things about Derek: random preferences and the deep, heavy shit you don’t tell anyone. There is no inbetween, really. And it goes both ways--well, Stiles kind of rambles, so if Derek was paying attention he might know some of the medium stuff about Stiles but Stiles doesn’t really expect Derek to listen to him. He learned long ago that people tune him out when he gets going sometimes--Scott loves him like a brother but he doesn’t actually listen to Stiles most of the time.

Derek and Stiles only hung out at all, outside the tutoring (which is not really necessary at this point but any time Stiles says ‘well I think you’ve got it’ Derek scowls and tells Stiles he’ll see him next week) just the once. They also haven’t actually had sex since the shower thing--just a intense makeout session when they ran into each other by chance in the bathroom off the Student Union. They still aren’t friends. It drives Scott mental sometimes.

“I do not get it at all.” He says for the umpteenth time.

“You bicker like an old married couple, have sex, and gush about him...but you don’t actually date or hang out or even have sex that often. Your whole relationship is basically that you have no relationship.”

Stiles just shrugs. They don’t really have much in common--Derek works hard all the time to maintain his grades. He’s not stupid or anything, he might not even have to work as hard as he does, but Derek takes his education seriously. Stiles only studies what he wants to which usually has nothing to do with his classes, he goes out with Scott every Friday, and he has a circle of friends that he hangs out with most of the time. Outside of that, they don’t really listen to the same music, play the same video games, or much of anything. Sure they like a few of the same movies, books, or TV shows but only a few. Derek clearly comes from money so they don’t have a lot of shared experiences. Derek played basketball and Stiles played lacrosse--it’s not like they hate each other, there’s just not much common ground. What they do have is a shared appreciation of orgasms and each other’s cocks. And Scott’s wrong, though Stiles can’t explain it. They do have a relationship...it’s just...backwards or inverted or something.

When the week before Thanksgiving break rolls around Stiles finds himself facing a strange feeling. The idea of going home for the holidays, even for just the long weekend, feels like jumping off a cliff without Derek. It’s ridiculous, it’s not even a whole week, so why should it matter if he goes home to Beacon Hills and Derek goes wherever he’s planning on going?

But it eats at him.

He doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want Derek to go. He doesn’t mention it to Scott because Scott will only say the same thing about how it makes no sense and that Stiles is acting lovesick when he’s not actually in love. Which he isn’t, by the way, just because he was a bit obsessive in the beginning when he found out Derek’s preferred sports teams doesn’t mean anything. He’s not like that now, he talks about plenty of other things and thinks about them too, or he would if Thanksgiving weren’t looming.

“Hey where are you even from, anyway?” Stiles finally asks, when Derek finds him at their usual table in the library.

“I live in Brooklyn now, with Laura.”

Stiles suspects Laura is Derek’s sister but Derek has never actually specified who she is, only that she survived the fire with him. Stiles doesn’t ask because...Derek hadn’t told him because he actually wanted Stiles to know, he’d told him so Stiles would understand that Derek didn’t judge him for the panic attacks.

“But originally we’re from Beacon Hills in California.”

Stiles nearly falls out of his chair.

“What?” he squawks.

Derek reaches over and tugs Stiles safely back into the chair.

“Beacon Hills, why, what could possibly make you react like that to some small town in California?”

“Because I’m from Beacon Hills--so is Scott. You had to go to our school and--oh. Oh my god your last name is  _ Hale _ . Oh.”

How had he not put it together before? A whole family killed in a fire on Christmas? How many of those were there? He knew the family was called Hale, he really did. His father had worked the case--it had be horrible. He’d tried to keep Stiles from reading the files but nothing could keep Stiles from reading his father’s files at that time. He swallowed as he stared at Derek, pieces all clicking into place.

“My dad’s the Sheriff.” Stiles babbles to Derek’s look of deep discomfiture. “I remember...I just didn’t...I should have, but well, not that...anyway, Beacon Hills, go Cyclones!”

“You’re the Sheriff’s kid?” Derek blinks.

“Yeah.” Stiles breathes, still a little thrown by the revelation that he and Derek went to the same high school--not at the same time though, Derek’s family would have died when he was a sophomore and Stiles was still in middle school. He and Laura left not long after the fire and thus they’d never really crossed paths. It also explained why Derek seemed to be older than Stiles--he would have had a hard time after that and taken his time finishing high school and deciding to go to college. Or maybe he and his sister just couldn’t stand him going off somewhere else right away. Who knew.

“Wow, small world?” Stiles offered to the silence that had begun to stretch. “So, you going to New York then, for the break?”

Derek shrugged, “Yeah.”

“It’s just weird,” Stiles said, meaning that Derek would be going to New York and Stiles to Beacon Hills and how that seemed to bother Stiles so much. But Derek took it another way.

“Not really,” He started spreading out his notes.

“Look, do you and Laura ever visit Beacon Hills or...do you...not.” Stiles realized halfway through asking that they might never want to set foot in the place again, but he just couldn’t get the idea out of his head that Derek (and Laura) might come home this year. So Stiles would know Derek was close by.

“Yeah,” Derek swallowed, not looking at Stiles. “We have, twice. Our uncle...he’s in a coma. So.”

“Oh.” Stiles clears his throat. His stupid desire to have Derek nearby be damned, he was shutting up now. “Well, chem--”

“Why?” Derek asked at the same time that Stiles tried to move on.

“No, nothing. It’s...nothing. So, chapt--”

“Stiles,” Derek commanded.

“Alright, it’s stupid though, I’m warning you.”

Derek waved his hand impatiently to say ‘get on with it’.

“I just...I thought maybe you might, and Laura too obviously, like to...or at least consider...it’s always just me and Dad and Scott and his mom at Thanksgiving, so, you could sort of...come. To dinner. And stay with us.”

Derek just stares at him.

“I warned you.” Stiles points out, annoyed. “I told you it was stupid, I tried to not be an idiot but you asked. So you don’t get to be offended.”

“Have you asked your dad?”

“No, I only just...why do you want to?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to talk to Laura but even the smaller turkeys are a pain for just the two of us. We have friends, but they all have families, sometimes we go with one of them but we don’t have plans that I know of and if we went to Beacon Hills we could visit Uncle Peter. But we wouldn’t want to impose, you sound like you have your own sort of tradition.”

“I’ll call my dad.” Stiles pulls out his phone but Derek puts his hand on it.

“Not now, Stiles, what’s the hell.”

“Sorry!” Stiles chirps, looking back at the chemistry notes. Derek might be coming to Beacon Hills for break. That was awesome.

“Why did you think of inviting us?” Derek asks, almost as though he’s suspicious of something.

“I don’t know.” Stiles replies, not willing or even able to put his feelings into words. “Just...maybe we could be friends. And friends...stick together.”


	9. This is Your Fantasy, and I’m Just Gonna Say Anything Goes

Derek doesn’t know where to begin when he calls Laura to ask if she would be interested in going to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving. He’s glad to be able to call Stiles his friend without feeling too weird about it since he was absolutely not going to detail his odd relationship with Stiles to his sister. Even so, there’s something that feels like lying when he tries to ask casually, like Stiles is just a friend who turned out to be the Sheriff’s son from their old home town who just happened to invite them to stay for Thanksgiving.

“Funny that in all this time you’ve never mentioned him,” Laura says when he finishes his explanation. “You’ve mentioned Boyd and Erica, you’ve mentioned a hot TA called Parish, but you have never mentioned Stiles who you are such good friends with he invited us to stay for a family holiday. Very fishy, that. You wanna tell me something, little bro?”

“Like what?” Derek growls. Laura always sees through him.

“Well, are you an item or what?”

“No.” Derek can say honestly. But he cannot add ‘just friends’ because...they aren’t.

“So it’s a friends with benefits thing?” She presses, conversationally, more amused than judgemental.

“No. It’s...we’re friends, Laura.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’d like to meet your friend Stiles, so sure. If his dad is certain he wants us, we’ll be there.”

Derek seriously regrets the whole thing. He’s not sure why he’s even doing it except that for some reason it seemed to matter to Stiles. Beacon Hills is not Derek’s favorite place, but at the same time it is. It’s where his family is, where the memories are and while that can be painful it’s also all he has left. So sometimes, he hates the place, and sometimes he misses it almost as much as he misses his parents, his siblings, his cousins and everyone else.

The thing is, after he agrees to go, Stiles calls him sometimes. It’s new. They mainly operate by running into each other accidently and their planned tutoring sessions that Derek doesn’t need anymore but can’t seem to end. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money and Stiles’ fee was modest to begin with. But somehow they are friends now, despite the fact that they have nothing in common. It doesn’t seem to matter, in fact Stiles takes it as a sort of challenge to try to convert Derek to the various things he loves that Derek has never heard of--he knows that this is going to drive him crazy after break when he’s going to be up to his neck in end of semester work that somehow Stiles never has to put any actual effort into. For now though, Derek finds it sort of like expanding his horizons even if not in the way he’s used to (like, academically, spiritually, anything with substance really).

Laura decides to stay with a friend she’s kept in contact with from high school but hardly ever gets to see, meaning it will be just Derek at the Stilinski house though Laura will join them for dinner prep and the actual meal as well as making sure her little brother gets settled alright.

Derek finally meets Scott on the drive to Beacon Hills, and he seems decent enough, though a little clueless. And he keeps looking from Derek to Stiles trying to be surreptitious in a way that lets Derek know Stiles has told him everything. It’s embarrassing though he doesn’t really blame Stiles, they never had any kind of confidentiality clause or anything. The fact that Derek hasn’t told a soul is just his own choice. Besides, he can tell by the way they banter and get in each other’s space that Stiles and Scott have been as close as Stiles said they were for years--Scott has Stiles back in all things. It’s nice, and it makes Derek wonder if maybe Stiles and Laura have a point about his social life.

Boyd and Erica are casual friends, though Erica has more than once tried to include him more fully. Boyd operates under the sort of mostly silent code Derek always prefered before he met Stiles. But maybe there was a place for chatter  _ and _ for companionable silence in his life. Derek has always just felt uncomfortable with any kind of closeness--maybe not always, but at least since the fire. He supposes, in his own thoughts where he won’t dwell on the concept or ever share it out loud, that he’s afraid to lose anyone again so he shuts most people out. It’s easier, safer.

But watching Stiles and Scott interact...Derek found himself reflecting that maybe having that hole in his life by avoiding people was just as bad as having it because of loss. And maybe...he doesn’t actually prefer things this way. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and he pushes it away, opting not to think about it and instead just watches their casual interactions while trying to answer on the occasions that one of them makes an effort to include him. And Scott genuinely does too--he seems to be of the opinion that anyone important enough to Stiles to be along for the ride, is worth being nice to.

“Hey kiddo,” the Sheriff says, taking Stiles’ bag as Stiles’ leads Derek into the house.

“Hey pops,” Stiles gives his father a one armed hug. “This is my dad, and this is Derek.”

Derek shakes the Sheriff’s hand, though technically they’d already met--not that Derek really remembers. The whole thing was basically a blur, getting the news, the police and the firefighters and doctors and concerned neighbors....

The Sheriff doesn’t look like Stiles much, but there’s something in the way he moves, like Stiles only muted in his maturity. Derek feels a strange twisting at the thought that he isn’t sure if he moves like his father did or not. He doesn’t think of his parents much in company, he clamps that sort of thing down, and tries only to bring out his family when he’s alone. But he sort of hopes he moves more like his mother, since he always resembled his father more strongly. He likes to think Stiles looks like his mother though he knows it’s just as likely he looks like some great-uncle or other and lives with the knowledge that his face has erased his mother just as her disease did.

It’s a horrible thought, but Derek has it because he can’t have the thought about himself, or Laura, not without breaking down in the Stilinski living room. That’s really not an option. So he settles--if not for a polite smile, at least not some kind of heavy emotional outpouring as Stiles chatters at his father and the two give Derek a sort of tour of their home. It’s not the cleanest, nor neatest--it’s so stereotypical of a man and his son left with no female presence not to make sure that things get dusted and put away with regularity. But it’s clearly a home, a place where despite their loss, a family lives. Derek misses that. The apartment in New York is not a home, it’s like his dorm room, just where lives because it’s where he needs to be. Beacon Hills is home, but it’s a broken, burned out shell of home. It’s a ghost and it presses on him more strongly than his last visit.

Stiles takes him up and puts his and Derek’s bags in his closet while getting out an air mattress and gesturing for Derek to make himself at home. While Stiles struggles with inflating the air mattress, Derek looks at the room, and tries not to think about all the stupid mementos of childhood and early adolescence that burned with his room. Instead, he focuses on Stiles, and realizes he’s been too quiet and it's making Stiles nervous. He seems to be talking about the history of the creaks in the stairs.

“So I was so sure the new creak only happened when the monster under my bed sneaked down for a glass of water and then one time Scott--”

“Stiles. I like your house.”

“I...oh. Uh, thanks?”

Derek shrugs, “I think it suits you and your dad.”

Stiles blinks at him for a beat, “It’s home.”

“Exactly.”

 

Derek can’t decide if Stiles is just creeped out at the thought of messing around with his dad in the house or if he’s determined to prove he invited Derek as a friend not as some kind of booty call. But while he’s as snarky and friendly as usual, the innuendos, suggestive touches, and ambush kisses are missing that night. It’s all a weird mix of formality and high school sleepover. Would Derek like another blanket? Does he want to play Mario Kart? And so on. The thing is, Derek actually could use the distraction of Stiles’ lips on his skin and his hands on Derek.

But suddenly he doesn’t know how to ask for it, not from this Stiles, not from his friend Stiles, not without the offers to get him off under the library table or shove him into a broom closet. He just watches as Stiles moves from getting Derek settled to agreeing to work on some of their homework since the next day will be all cooking and family. Stiles moves in jittery jerks and odd fluid motions, all energy and arms and finger taps.

And he finds himself watching Stiles rather than doing his reading. Stiles is lying across his bed, a book out in front of him and leaning on his elbows. He chews the end of a highlighter absently as he swings his feet in the air. It’s so strange how they’ve come to be in this moment. Derek doesn’t know what it all means just that his heart is thudding in his chest which is too tight and he can feel the weight of Beacon Hills pressing in on him from all sides--held at bay only slightly, precariously, by the shelter of Stiles’ home and his mismatched socks waving in the air as he frowns at a text book.

“Stiles,” he says, almost a whisper. He doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t have anywhere to go from there. Stiles’ hums and looks up casually but when his eyes lock with Derek something changes.

Stiles licks his lips, “Um.”

They make an eloquent pair sometimes, as Stiles seems to be having some kind of internal debate before he clears his throat.

“So…”

Derek supposes that was Stiles’ opening, his chance to say no, to explain that he’s not in the mood or the whole childhood bedroom or father at home thing is a problem. But all he did was look at Derek and lick his lips. So Derek joins him on the bed and they’re kissing.

It’s bad at first, the worst it’s ever been with Stiles but it had to be bad at some point because you can’t be charmed the whole time, but it evens out after he relaxes into it. When they finally find their rhythm, Stiles makes this little sound of relief or appreciation and it brings Derek somewhere he didn’t know he could ever find: home. He reaches a hand up to trace Stiles face, to hold him there, to just feel him.

As it gets more intense though, Stiles breaks it off with a mischievous smirk.

“One thing missing, big guy.” He slides off the bed and pads to the door where he twists the lock, “Fantasy complete, a bed and a locked door.”

“Fantasy started, you mean,” Derek replies, voice low. Stiles practically dives back onto the bed.

“Well what’s next then? This is your fantasy, and I’m just gonna say anything goes.”

“Anything?” Derek’s heart skitters slightly at the idea. “No matter how perverted or vanilla or intense?”

“Anything.” Stiles says fervently, eyes dark and voice full of lustful enthusiasm.

It’s not fair, really, because Stiles doesn’t understand what Derek has in mind, but he takes Stiles at his word and leans in to kiss him again. Stiles is greedy, trying to pick up where they left off but Derek doesn’t give way, slapping Stiles’ hands away as he slowly plants chaste kisses on Stiles’ lips.

Stiles makes an impatient noise, but accepts the change as some kind of challenge, and he meets Derek on his terms, slow, gentle, sweet. Derek takes his time learning Stiles’ lips with his own. He can just feel Stiles’ brain buzzing though, not understanding it yet, wondering if it’s a test or a game. He works up to the next step carefully, waiting until he can’t stand it anymore before he accepts one of Stiles’ many invitations of parted lips to deepen the kiss.

Stiles makes that sound again, that relieved appreciation, a little throaty thing that seems to mean ‘thank god’. But Derek still takes it slow, savoring every sensation. Then he breaks away, pulling back to take in the expression Stiles’ is making.

“Heyyyyyy,” Stiles whines.

Derek reaches out and takes one of Stiles’ hands and threads their fingers together before taking pity on him and kissing him again. Stiles answers Derek’s slow progression of light caresses and lazy kissing with fits of endurance and impatience. Derek’s heart thuds away knowing Stiles still doesn’t get it and fearing what will happen when he does.

He leans into Stiles then, finally pulling him into his arms. He kisses Stiles jaw, his neck, even nibbles at his earlobe and Stiles pants and whimpers and tries to slid his hands under Derek’s shirt but Derek slaps them away again and pulls back to just look at Stiles, meeting his frustrated expression openly, more openly than he’s ever looked at anyone.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes after a moment, his features softening from annoyance into something tender.

“Yeah,” Derek croaks, voice reluctant to intrude.

Stiles takes charge then, kissing Derek slow and long and deep--careful and full of new intent. And that...that breaks something deep inside Derek he didn’t know was there that very much needed breaking. And their hands are everywhere, it no longer matters if they slide under fabric and brush hips or pull each other close hard. Because Stiles gets it and is giving Derek the fantasy he wants. They aren’t going to have a quickie in a laundry room or have Derek gasping against books, no, they’re going to make love in Stiles’ room.


End file.
